


Sorry I Turned You On (But I'm Kissing You Off)

by Blackrising



Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Edgeplay, F/F, Farah is slightly jealous, FemBobby is a horny fuckboi, Femslash, Vampires, and needy, she gets nothing, the Detective is into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:07:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24291055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackrising/pseuds/Blackrising
Summary: Bobby’s voice takes a turn for the delighted. “I see you remember.”The words cause Farah to release a tiny growl against my throat – soft, unpracticed and entirely unexpected – before she pinches my skin between her teeth and nips softly at it.- OR -Bobby is a pest, Farah doesn’t like having to share the Detective’s attention, and the Detective figures out the solution to at least one of those things.
Relationships: Female Detective/Farah Hauville
Comments: 22
Kudos: 101





	Sorry I Turned You On (But I'm Kissing You Off)

**Author's Note:**

> Please forgive any mistakes, this was written at work.

_“Hello, angel.”_

My first instinct upon hearing the honeysuckle-heavy purr on the other end of the line is to curse and slam the receiver down, possibly hard enough to get rid of it for good. It never seems to tempt people I actually _like_ into calling.

Farah’s head perks up where she is sprawled into a chair, precariously balancing both herself and a pencil on her nose while her seat whips back and forth on two legs. Surprisingly, she has so far managed to busy herself in quiet and mostly without interrupting my work day – ‘ _mostly’_ because her eyes on me have the questionable ability to make me forget what I’m supposed to be doing.

And she certainly spent a good chunk of the day just looking at me. With her amber eyes tracing over my face and her lips quirked up in a smile that had me fumbling to concentrate on something other than her presence in my office.

Not that anyone seems to actually expect me to, considering Tina took one look at us and then closed my office door behind her with a not-so-subtle thumbs-up in my direction this morning.

“Who is that?” Farah mouths at me, righting her chair with a muted click.

I roll my eyes at the phone in a telling enough gesture and turn back to the matter at hand. Namely, my ex purring down the line as if we’re back in college and she just slipped her hand into my pants in the library – an experience I am unfortunately (in retrospect) quite familiar with.

“What do you want this time, Bobby?”

One of Farah’s eyebrows shoots up at the name, the pencil on her nose forgotten as it clatters into her lap.

_“Who says I want anything? Can’t I just call you because I’ve missed your voice?”_

There are a lot of things about Bobby I have tried to forget, but that particular tone is hard not to recognize. It’s her _springtime_ purr. Her _‘hey angel, why don’t we slip away for a second’_ murmur. It’s the voice that has gotten me into countless tight situations back when we were together, most of them involving minimal amounts of clothing.

I grimace.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Farah inching closer, the hint of a frown catching along her brow, and suddenly I remember that she can probably hear Bobby’s side of the conversation just as well as mine.

“No, you can’t,” I speak into the receiver. “I’m at work.”

I know it’s not a strong enough rejection the moment the words leave my mouth, Bobby’s pleased chuckle making my hairs stand on end and my temper flare.

_“When has work ever stopped us? Unless you’re worried about any…noises you might make.”_

A rustling on the other end conjures up the image of Bobby leaning back in her chair to get more comfortable for whatever she thinks is going to happen and my grip on the phone tightens. Sleazy bag of-

Farah has come to stand behind me, one palm braced on the back of my chair as she she stares down at the receiver in my hand. She grins when I glance at her, though there’s an edge to it that complements the frown still lingering on her face.

I don’t have time to wonder about it when Bobby speaks up again. _“You know I’ve always loved listening to you. The way you would scream my name…”_

Involuntarily, my breath hitches. Not because of what Bobby said, not because of the memories she’s unwittingly drudging up, but because of the elegant, dark-skinned hand suddenly sliding around my side to rest against my ribcage, just underneath my breast.

I jerk my head down to watch a thumb circling, getting dangerously close to brushing against the underside of my breasts. The moment I do, Farah’s face presses into the crook of my neck. Her lips are soft and wet where they brush over my skin, drawing out a shivery gasp from between my clenched teeth.

Bobby’s voice takes a turn for the delighted. _“I see you remember.”_

The words cause Farah to release a tiny growl against my throat – soft, unpracticed and entirely unexpected – before she pinches my skin between her teeth and nips softly at it. I hastily cover the receiver with one palm before I give Bobby any more ammunition.

“Farah, what are you doing?”

The only response I get is a quiet, strange noise caught somewhere between a chuckle and a whine, her eyes closed and her brow furrowed to the point where I don’t need to see her entire face to know that she’s holding back a pout.

_“Tell me, angel, do you still wear that red set of lingerie I like so much?”_ Bobby hasn’t stopped talking, and the smirk she must be wearing on her face beats against the confines of my control. _“Or was that for my eyes only?”_

I lift my palm from the receiver and snap, “Bobby, I swear to-“

Farah bites down, hard and sudden, and the tail end of my sentence gets lost in an embarrassingly obvious groan. One that is, to my sheer horror, met with an answering one from Bobby. _“Damn, angel, you’re still the only one who can get me this wet.”_ Her voice is deep and dripping like honey when she speaks, the velvety purr sliding down my spine like molasses. _“I knew you still wanted me.”_

And just like that, my tentative control on my temper shatters.

“What I _want_ , Bobby?” I ask, the deep breaths I’ve been trying to take since Farah put her hands on me given up in favour of panting. “You really want to know what I want?”

Farah’s palm has started wandering higher, brushing against my breast with every rise and fall of my ribcage, and the kisses and bites she lavishes against the side of my neck almost make me lose my thread.

Bobby hums low in her throat. _“Yes. Tell me exactly what you want.”_

“Fine. You’ll get to hear all of it.”

In a snap-second decision, I throw the receiver onto my desk – not bothering to cover it or disconnect the call – and jump up. Farah flinches back in surprise.

“And you,” I start. “I hope you know what you’ve been doing.”

She attempts to look contrite, but the grin widening her lips and setting off tingles in my stomach tells a different story. “Keeping you entertained during boring calls?” She widens her eyes in a mockery of innocence, hopping onto my desk and knocking a few folders off it in the process.

The casual display shatters as I step between her legs and place my hands on her thighs, the heat of her body searing into my palms even through the fabric of her skinny jeans. Her smile falters and my heart thrums like the wings of a hummingbird when her eyelids droop low across her darkening eyes.

“Or did you- I mean…” Farah’s eyes drop down to where she’s fiddling with a hole in her pants. “Should I have…left?”

Before she can start doubting me – or us – I bend my head and tilt it to capture her lips. She makes a happy little sound as I do, the tips of her fingers splaying across my stomach. Farah is soft in all the right ways and the feel of her mouth sliding against me leaves my mind hazy.

“Now this is much more fun,” she laughs, pulling away just an inch. “If I knew-“

With one hand sliding around her neck, I pull her back in. The muffled tail end of her sentence dissolves into a gasp as I flick my tongue against her bottom lip, teasing even as her lips part almost immediately.

I smirk. “You up for some more, then?”

My fingers trail along her thigh until I can hook one of them into her waisband, sliding along between fabric and skin until my touch catches on the tempting metal of a button. Farah returns my smirk, albeit there is the hint of a flush crawling up her neck.

I’m struck by the thought that I want to see more of it.

“Yes,” she says, just a tiny bit more high-pitched than usual before she clears her throat and grins. “I’m up for anything – and if I’m not, I’ll let you know.”

For the shortest of moments, I press the heel of my palm against her, between her legs, and I’m gratified to see her grin wobble momentarily. Her hips twitch.

“Good.”

Our lips meet and I finally allow myself to slide my tongue against hers, curling and exploring and reveling in the sounds of it, the warmth of her as she wraps her arms around my neck in a tight embrace.

My fingers make short work of her button and zipper. The sound is loud in the quiet of the office and at the edge of my hearing I make out what I assume is Bobby throwing a tantrum - but it doesn’t seem to matter when Farah shivers and tugs my hand lower, past her waistband, to brush over soft curls.

She’s wet.

Unmistakably wet already, and there’s no doubt I’m the reason for it when I curl one finger to brush the softest of touches against her clit and she gasps out my name. It’s a sound that makes goosebumps rise on my skin.

Farah chuckles, then, nervously stroking along the skin of my forearm. “Wow, that-“ she pauses, taking a deep breath. “You feel really good, Emma. And you _smell_ really good, too. And I have nothing against your hand in my pants, but if you keep doing that, this might be over pretty quickly.”

Instead of answering, I begin circling the tip of my finger around her clit. Slow and steady, lazily, just enough to make her hips roll into my touch.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She laughs breathily. “No. God, no, definitely not.”

I keep my rhythm as light as I can, never touching her clit directly, and watch as the flush spreads and spreads across her neck and face, as she bites her bottom lip in concentration. As a sheen of sweat settles over her dark skin, murmurs of ‘yes’ and ‘please, Emma’ seeming to echo in the space around us.

She wasn’t lying – it doesn’t take much more than a few minutes of my fingers on her and my mouth sucking small hickey’s into her neck until her movements become jerky and erratic. The hands buried into the hair at the back of my neck tighten, Farah’s moans grow louder and higher and then-

I stop.

Farah’s eyes snap open. “What-“ she splutters, breathing heavily and her brow furrowed in shocked confusion. “Why did you stop?”

I press a quick kiss to her mouth and smile. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” The reply comes as quick as a gunshot, not a single ounce of hesitation or doubt in it, and my heart does a little leap at the shine in her eyes.

“Then lie back and enjoy.”

Farah does, settling back against my desk and leaning on her elbows with an expectant look. She doesn’t even seem to register the beanie sliding from her head or her scarf coming undone to rest beneath her.

“You know, I always thought _you’d_ be the one who ends up on a desk underneath me,” she says, mischief hovering at the edges of her mouth. The thought – Farah braced above me, grinning with heavy-lidded eyes and nails scraping down my stomach - sends a pulse through me to settle in my lower belly.

And going by the widening smirk on her face, she knows exactly what it does to me.

Widening, that is, until I start moving my fingers again and her head falls back with a quiet thunk, sucking in a sharp breath that has me hastening my movements.

It’s even quicker this time. After what feels like no time at all, Farah is hanging on the edge again, the unfulfilled arousal from before making her hips thrust up against me and her moans edge into whimpers.

Whimpers that trail off into a long, strained groan as my movements halt.

Again and again, I stroke her until I feel the telltale twitches of orgasm before pulling back and leaving her to suck in choked breaths. By the third time, she’s chanting my name. By the fifth, I no longer recognize the language she’s speaking.

And by the sixth time I leave her to twitch helplessly against my hand, she doesn’t seem capable of forming words at all.

Farah only gives a weak noise when I pull my hand away and grasp her waistband to tug her pants and underwear off. She blinks down at me, watching with glistening eyes and her lips wet and parted.

“Emma, please,” she breathes, and there is no smile in the words, no mischief or humour. Just a desperate plea that shivers down my spine as if Farah was the one touching me all this time.

I swallow and pull her pants the rest of the way off. A part of me wants to take in her long, thin legs, to drink in every inch of exposed skin until it’s as familiar to me as my own, but the tremble in Farah’s limps and the unprompted shudders running along her frame are enough to convince me otherwise.

I sink to my knees in front of her.

At the first touch of my lips against the skin of her inner thigh, Farah’s mouth opens as if to talk or moan – but all that comes out is a short, high-pitched noise. The flush has darkened and spread across her collarbones, her hair mussed-up beyond salvaging. She looks as though she’s been fucked for hours. And fucked _well_.

I meet her eyes as my lips drag along the inside of her thigh, steadily upwards, until the smell of her fills my senses and my nose brushes against the soft dark curls covering her.

Farah tenses, limbs so stiff I’m afraid she might break. Only when my tongue finally flattens against her does she seem to come undone with a snap – she arches off the desk and throws her legs over my shoulders, the noises she makes high and lost and _wanting_ , and even if I planned to tease her again, her death grip on me wouldn’t allow it.

I press the flat of my tongue against the swollen flesh between her legs and drag it upwards in one broad stroke. Her clit twitches and pulses against me, the thighs around my hand tensing.

Quickly, all too quickly, Farah’s hips start rocking. It’s not a controlled movement, not a conscious one, but rather a stuttering movement that she can’t seem to help, and I close my lips around her clit, applying the slightest bit of suction as my tongue flicks and rubs against it.

“I’m-“ she whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please please _please-_ “

Her hand reaches out for me and I grasp it tightly in my own, interlocking our fingers and giving her a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

The next moment, she rears up. With her mouth opened in a silent scream, her thighs holding me close and her hips bucking up to press tight against me, all I can do I ride out the wave with her. The tears that have been building behind her eyelids squeeze out and stain her eyelashes in a way that strikes me as achingly pretty.

I let her ride out her orgasm against my tongue, slowing my movements gradually and carefully so as to not overwhelm her. Her hand clasped in mine all the while.

The breath she lets out when she finally slumps back against the table is such a long and overwrought kind of ‘phew’ that I can’t help but chuckle as I get to my feet. “Feeling better?”

The smile Farah gives me then has all the butterflies in my stomach doing tricks.

“Much better,” she says, albeit still hoarse and out of breath. “But your work day is over because I don’t think I’ll be able to move for a while.”

I’m about to tease her about her oh-so-fabled vampire endurance when an object I had almost forgotten catches my attention where it’s now hanging off the edge of the table. I grab the receiver and hold it up to my ear.

“Satisfied?”

I reach over to cup Farah’s cheek, stroking the flawless skin lightly in silent reassurance as I speak into the phone. She merely leans into my touch with a small, genuine smile.

I almost think Bobby has started behaving like a normal human being for once in her life and hung up to lick her wounds in peace, but that particular hope is dashed when there’s a miserable, choked croak on the other end of the line.

_“I- What is the meaning of this, angel?”_ she sputters, sounding as though she has just reemerged from a state of deep shock. _“If you were mad at me you could have just-“_

“Goodbye, Bobby.”

I disconnect the call with a satisfying click and lean down to sink into Farah’s embrace.


End file.
